The Rod of Light (Soul of the Robot)

Street traffic was surprisingly light. A rail-mounted public transport system—an institution practically unheard of in Tansiann—served the needs of the general populace. The private carriages that roamed the mainly unpaved roads were restricted by law to the ruling class.

From what Jasperodus had heard while on the planning staff in Tansiann (though knowledge of Borgor society had been astonishingly meagre in the New Empire) the social order here was based on an ancient political dictum that had even played a part in the philosophy of Tergov: To each according to his need, from each according to his ability. It was the perfect principle on which to found an ordered, stratified society. The cultivated needs of the educated upper classes went far beyond those felt by the relatively rude working population, while the latter had the manual ability to serve those needs.

To walk as a robot in broad daylight in the streets of Breshk was unnerving. People stopped and stared as he passed. Children followed him, though keeping their distance. But no one barred his path; no uniformed lawkeeper stopped him to ask his business. It was presumed that, like one of the electric omnibuses that rattled and sparked along the badly-laid rails, he was a machine with a task allotted by the government.

He walked the length of Neszche Prospect until coming to a building that was larger and more prominent than the others, that protruded, in fact, into the roadway, narrowing the street at that point. It was the War Ministry. Typically, there was no guard at the entrance. Jasperodus passed straight through into the small foyer, whose walls were decorated with enlarged pictures of Borgor military and civic dignitaries. He approached the female secretary sitting behind a reception desk.

‘I have to speak to Commissary Chief Marshal Mexgerad,’ he said. ‘I carry important information for him.’

The woman was middle-aged, and practised at her occupation. Just the same she stared at him in startlement. It was quite probable that she had never been addressed by a construct before.

She was also physically afraid. He could sense the revulsion she felt for him.

‘Give me this information,’ she said crisply when she recovered herself. ‘I will pass it on.’

‘It is for Commissary Chief Marshal Mexgerad alone. I must see him personally.’

She became flustered. ‘Ch-chief Marshal Mexgerad died five years ago,’ she stuttered. ‘Who sent you?’

‘Then his successor. Whoever is Commissary Chief Marshal at present.’

He detected a movement of her right leg. She was pressing a button on the floor.

Instantly, with a terrifying bang, steel shield-walls fell into place from the ceiling, cutting off the desk, the street entrance, and the other exit at the end of the foyer. He was imprisoned, in what turned out to be no more than a plush, moderately sized cell.

He waited, and after about a minute a hidden panel in the wall snicked open. Three figures in bulky white armour emerged, with great caution, the projecting snouts of their gas masks making them look like padding polar bears. They aimed large tube-like weapons at him: beamers, effective against robots.

‘Over here, robot,’ a harsh impersonal voice said.

Obeying, he let them usher him to the opening, the mouths of their tubes pointing always at his chest. Once he was through, the panel closed behind him. The dark cubicle he was now in had the feel of concrete, and it plummeted deep underground.

When it stopped there was a long wait. When eventually it opened, they were ready for him.

The examination began.

There had been no questions. No one had spoken to him except to give him orders. They had scanned his body with ultrasound. A Borgor technician had opened his inspection plate and taken a long series of readings, with an instrument so big it had to be pulled in on a trolley.

Now he was left alone in the steel-and-concrete cellar, shackled against the wall with steel chains.

Very faintly, he thought he heard distant voices. He sensitised his hearing; and then, realizing the sounds were being conducted through the room’s steel girder frame, moved his head to bring it into contact with the nearest stanchion.

‘No explosives in its body,’ a tinny voice said. ‘Surprising. No poison gas either, that we could find.’

‘It could have been sent to kill the Marshal with its hands,’ a second voice answered.

‘Why not blow itself up and kill half a dozen marshals, or wreck an entire floor? Besides, why send a robot as an assassin? A man would be better.’

‘Except a man might not regard himself as expendable.’

‘Yes … well, you’d still think it would know the name of its target … it doesn’t make sense … it must have travelled a long way to get here.’

‘What about if there’s a secret southern cell inside the city? They might have made it. Funny thing is, the specialist said it had no hostile intent … no, I don’t believe that.’

They returned. And for the first time, Jasperodus spoke.